That’s actually a major accomplishment. See, what should have been an hour nuisance turned into a day-long adventure. All I wanted to do was legally ride my bike; registered and insured. Insurance was a breeze. Registration…
I catch a gap at the tax office with literally NOBODY in line, and think it’s my lucky day. The clerk destroys that when she looks at my title and says, “This is an invalid title for Georgia. We can’t accept it.”
Seems the odometer reading at time of last transfer was missing. The fix is to have the seller get a repaired title. That little task must happen in Tennessee, state of title.
Let’s skip phone calls and stick solely to trips. I went to the Bradley title office, took the power of attorney to the seller where she was working (she’s got a mobile job, so this particular was in mid-Chattanooga), took PoA and old title to the Hamilton title office (because they offered same-day printing of titles), took repaired title to seller (this time on the north side of Hamilton Bay, a half-hour drive) who signed it, then back home so I could go to the title office.
Back into the title office, and she says, “First, you need the correct insurance paperwork. Second, the state’s computers says the VIN doesn’t match the rest of the title.” The first is easy to fix. A phone call to the insurance and they fax the correct form to the office. The second? giggle.
I have to take a form to my bike and meet a deputy who checks out the bike. The purpose is to have title conform to bike. (It does. Computers are… odd.) One of the blocks on the form – a NEW block just this year – asks if the NHSTA plate is present. Officer can’t find a plate that says NHSTA on it, doesn’t call in, says, “No.” Leaves. I ask (smart this time, I call) the title office, who says that with the “no” I cannot get a registration. I have an image of $1500 bearing wings, but persevere. I call a dealer and ask where the plate is. She describes its location and what’s on it, and I find it. One more trip to the tax office to get a new form, call for the deputy to come back. This deputy looks and says, “Yeah, it’s that plate right there.” (mutter). Fills out form. I go back to the title office – count it, I’ve been there FOUR times in one day – and finish. I’m beat, kinda exhausted as much from relief as anything else. I know I need practice before I do serious riding, but decide a time or two around the block (or the neighborhood) won’t do me wrong.
It doesn’t, but only barely, and I know I need a bit more practice on a couple of things. Still, by 6 pm I’ve managed to ride my bike.
I have a victory for the day. Now if I can only continue the trend into job hunting.